Spar
by Seamagik
Summary: or, A Four Letter Word for UST. A M/A one-shot that's been hanging out on my LJ for quite some time.


A/N:

Inspired by military training, oddly enough. This gleefully dances around crack without ever quite giving in. Its shenanigans, they are unrepentant.

It's actually been hanging out on my LJ for a long time and as I was working on Friday for Week of the Cat, I decided that maybe it should migrate over here.

* * *

_- Spar_-

* * *

Max _hated_ verbs.

Which is quite alright, because verbs hated Max right back. In fact, they seemed to enjoy taunting her.

"Man, did you see that sparring session this morning? Alec totally _licked_ Max."

"Ha! He loves the attention. You could totally see it on his face; he was just _lapping_ it up."

"Yeah well, that's what she gets. She gave him an opening and he just _slid_ right in."

Max had enough of verbs and their evil, mind-twisting, mental-image-calling ways. She'd also had enough of eavesdropping on this particular conversation and finally rounded the corner, looking blandly at the two X-6's lounging in the hallway. They snapped upright when they noticed her and they shared a wary glance. She hadn't heard them, had she?

She let them stew in fear for a few moments, before finally arching one amused eyebrow. "Scram."

They scrammed, taking themselves as far and as fast from their Commanding Officer as their wiry little adolescent legs could carry them. Alec barely managed to avoid their barreling forms as he turned the corner.

"Woah, where's the fire?" The two teens didn't stop to tell him, but it didn't matter because he'd caught sight of Max. "Oh, I see. Never mind."

And then, as if her day wasn't bad enough, Alec sauntered up to her and flung an arm over her shoulders. Well, at least he had his shirt on again, even if it was way too frickin' formfitting. His shoulders were stupid, Max thought with all the sullen, vindictive force of a three year old.

"Maxie! How's my favorite sparring partner?"

She shook him off, scowling, forcing away the memories. Memories of earlier that morning, of fighting, of grappling, of rolling around on the mat with half of TC looking on (slight over exaggeration, but that's Max for you). "You beat me _one_ time. Stop making such a big deal out of it." She spun on her heel, stalking away from him.

Typically, he followed. "C'mon, Maxie, just 'cuz I beat you fair and square…"

That's when she had to stop, laughing in disbelief. "Fair? _Fair_?!" She whirled on him, her eyes narrowing as she hissed, "There was nothing _fair_ about it!" One slim, accusatory finger came up and poked him brutally in the chest. "You _cheated_."

He leaned back into his heels, smiling that stupid little cat smile, pursed lips, wicked eyes, almost a smirk but just not quite. His voice was loose and lazy, almost a drawl, as he rubbed at the spot on his chest that she had tried to send her finger through. "_Did_ I? How so?"

She gaped at him for a moment, mouth working soundlessly. She certainly wasn't going to say it out _loud_. "You… you just did and you know it!" She turned her back on him and resumed her thunderous stomp down the hallway. Thunderous because, given her facial expression, she'd have probably liked it if lightning shot from her heel every time she brought a heavy foot down. Would have liked it more if every bolt hit Alec in the face.

Alec's face was ignoring her, pretending thoughtfulness for a moment, before the man shook his head and shrugged. "Nope, don't know what you're talkin' 'bout." Alec resumed his own slow meandering gait, tracking her to her office. She almost sputtered in disbelief, before stopping once more. It was like a rather annoying game of Red Light, Green Light, Alec noted to himself, right before she turned, folded her arms across her chest, and arched one eyebrow.

Alec contained the amusement. Oh boy. Here it comes.

"Let's face it, Alec. I'm _better_ than you."

Alec snorted as some of the amusement leaked out.

She ignored him, continuing on, lofty and full of herself. "There's no way you could have beaten me without cheating. Hence, you cheated."

"This coming from the girl that kicked me in the balls a few short months ago?" He demanded, sauntering right up to her, looming over her. His hazel eyes flashed as they bore into hers, as he leaned in, his face far too close to hers. There was something dangerous in the air, even if his expression did remain playful. "Let's face it, honey, if I was fighting dirty, it was only because I learned from the master."

She could have just taken the small victory; that Alec had almost sort of kind of admitted that he may or may not have cheated a little bit but probably hadn't. Instead, she scowled up at him. "Rematch."

And so sealed her doom.

He backed down, backed away, with a shrug. "Whatever you say, _Maxie_." The way his mouth caressed her name should have given it away.

Rematch? Bad idea.

But she didn't realize it at the time. No, she was still all hell-bent on proving herself. Proving that she was better. That she could and would _always_ beat him. Still… just in case, no way was she gonna let the rest of T.C. watch this time. No, instead, they made a silent, unconscious sort of instantaneous agreement and avoided the training room, speaking no more of the upcoming match and waiting for the duty day to be over. She met him over at his place, 'cuz for some reason it'd seem strange if they went together, at the same time, to the same place… together. Especially if that 'same place' was Alec's small apartment, so far from the prying eyes of transgenics, transhumans, Logan... anybody, really. Dunno why it seemed so strange. It just wouldn't be right, for some reason. So she barged in, and he was waiting for her, leaning at the bar next to a bottle of whiskey that he had decided not to open. There was no reason to drink when he already felt so alive.

They shoved his couch away, he gave her a stern lecture on avoidance of the TV and all other things electronic, and she sullenly promised not to break any lamps over his head. He lifted the shirt from his body with a singular, sweeping motion, and when she demanded to know what the hell he was doing, he told her he was merely trying to recreate the sparring session of earlier. She scowled, but whatever, his shoulders were still stupid. And then it was on.

How terrible.

See, the problem with _real_ fighting is that it almost always ends in grappling. Nobody just throws punches at each other for hours on end. The idea is unrealistic, and frankly, laughable. No, eventually someone is going to get taken to the ground, and then the person with the best holds, the strongest grip, the fastest maneuvers, that's the person that's going to win. Maybe it's actually just the first person that has friends show up.

Or maybe it's just the person that cheats the most.

Her shirt had ridden up in the back and she could feel the harsh sting of the carpet against her skin. She had his waist locked between her legs, which would have been better if he hadn't had her arms pinned over her head. And just when she started applying pressure, squeezing his sides painfully with her knees, he suddenly shoved forward, _into_ her, and her legs forcibly relaxed as a gasp was torn from her throat… which is all he needed to break her lock, flip her over, and pin her, cheek pressed to the floor, her arms held tightly behind her back.

His lips were dangerously close to her ear, his breath stirred her dark hair. "I'm winning, Maxie. _Again_."

She bucked him off and he let her, and the fact that he let her made her even more angry. She glared at him over her shoulder, coming to her knees and kicking backwards, but he simply grabbed her calf and pulled her towards him, toppling her back to the ground… and once he had, once she was close enough, his hand slid quickly past the underside of her knee, over the back of a jean-clad thigh, headed towards-

She bit her lip to control the moan, instead rolling and knocking his hand away before it could reach her ass. "You wouldn't be winning if you would keep your perverted hands off of me!"

He bit his own lip to control the wide smile, but he couldn't control the light of unabashed glee in his eyes. "Max, how could you say that about me?" He managed to affect a look of hurt reproach. "We're _sparring_. I'm not _trying_ to feel you up."

"Yeah right," She muttered, sitting up and straightening her twisted shirt, her body buzzing.

He relaxed his expression, drawing back to his knees, and he rolled his eyes. "We're grappling. Of course things will get a little close and hands on-"

Her gasp of incredulity made the fire of laughter burn brighter in his eyes. She started with a huff, "It's only awkward because you keep-"

But he interrupted, talking right over her. "I mean, is it my fault that it's been a while for you? That your mind keeps rolling around in the gutter?"

That bastard! She launched herself at him, and they were on the ground once more, struggling for position.

"I'll kill you!"

He made a sound in the back of his throat, and god, even the _sound_ sounded perverted. Need sliced through her fingers, carrying itself to her core, and she lifted him slightly, slamming him back down in an attempt to shake off the desire. He was quite possibly the most frustrating man on the face of the planet. God, this was all his fault.

If only she hadn't fought him this morning.

The first fight had started innocently enough. Max had stomped into the training room after a particularly hellfire and brimstone sort of morning and asked Polk to find her a good sparring partner, someone that was her match, 'cuz after another argument with Logan she needed to lay into something good. Alec had been bouncing back and forth on his toes over on one of the mats, a loose pair of blue jeans apparently his idea of work-out gear. Who knows where his shirt had gotten too. And Max had been watching him, because, well, that was what Max did. Usually she was glaring or scowling as she did it, but that mattered very little in the long run. Narrowed, angry, glaring, gloating, it didn't matter; in the end, her eyes were on him. Which, unfortunately, someone had noticed, and that someone happened to be Polk and he'd followed her gaze and made a little noise in the back of his throat, something weighing and judging. Max had glanced at the X-5 and he had shrugged.

"Him? Max, you don't want to fight him."

Of course not, because she was better than him. She'd already beaten him so many times that-

"He'd wipe the floor with you."

Max's jaw had almost dropped open. "What?!"

Polk must have had some hint, some glimmering knowledge, of her and Alec's relationship, because he'd arched one bushy eyebrow. "Max, there's a reason why so many transgenics call him 'Sir.' He had rank on everybody. He was one of the best. Fuck, even Sandovel and Lydecker sung his praises and you know how hard it was to please-" He'd trailed off, his eyes going distant. Max could almost see the programming, 'Rat', 'Traitor', flash through his mind as he'd remembered to whom he was speaking. Polk was one of the better guys, 'cuz he'd shaken the training away and cleared his throat. "I mean, you weren't there, but… 494, he was-"

But Max had heard enough and was stomping her way across mats, ignoring the indignant 'heys!' from transgenics as she inadvertently interrupted their sparring sessions, narrowly missing more than one punch not pulled soon enough and not even realizing it.

"Pretty Boy," It was a greeting, but there was no mistaking the challenge in it.

He'd turned slowly, affected a look of surprise, like he hadn't already known she was there. "Max,"

"Seem a little worked up today," She shrugged out of her leather jacket, tossed it to the side.

His eyes had flicked down, over the stretched material of a red t-shirt, over formfitting blue jeans, all the way down to her typical black ass-kicking boots. The boots were like a catalyst to cut short his heavy, lingering gaze; he'd snorted and his eyes had snapped back up immediately. "Do I?" He fell back into a starting position, stance wide, his fists coming up in readiness. He wasn't stupid, he'd known why she'd stomped over there. Maybe another day he would have blown her off. But he was edgy and caged, and, well, to be completely honest, he was horny. So he was taking care of it the only way he could right now. Dropping other transgenics to the mat and trying to shake the electricity out of his fingertips. Sucks being in Command. All the damn military training takes over and you can't quite bring yourself to come on to the females under you. Can't sneak out of TC for a little Ordinary rough n' tumble either. Maybe it had been a stupid idea, but at the time he'd thought that maybe working Max into an angry lather would get rid of some of the restless energy humming within him.

"You ready?" She'd asked, her head cocking to the side.

The rumble of his voice really should have been her first warning. Alec's voice never rumbled. It went up, it went down, it became whiny, moody, light, bright. But it never moved like a deep thrum through her body. "_I_ am. Are you?"

She didn't answer, just threw herself forward.

"Well," Polk said, watching from across the room. "This should be interesting."

And it was. In all honesty, Polk had been expecting for it to be over quickly. That Alec would drop her to the mat, same as he'd been doing with everyone else, and be done with it. But Polk would be surprised to find that it was almost an even match. Max, despite her lack of training, her years outside of Manticore… well, she was _good_. They'd countered one another, moving back and forth across the mat in a syncopated dance; a hit missed, a kick avoided. If he hadn't known better, if he couldn't see the slight sweat starting to gather at Max's temples, between Alec's shoulder blades, he'd almost have thought the whole thing was choreographed.

It went on like that for far too long, though. Clearly there would be no winner if they continued to fight fair.

Which is maybe why Alec had been forced to dodge a very low, very dangerously aimed kick. He'd looked up, controlling the shock, and he'd smiled narrowly at her. "Not letting you get away with that again, sister."

She always hated it when he called her that. Especially when there was nothing remotely sibling like in her feelings, or lack thereof, for him. She'd smiled a challenge in response, a slight nod of the head, her eyes a little bit hard, and he fell still just for a moment.

"Is this really the way we're gonna play it?" He'd demanded.

She hadn't realized what he'd meant at the time. In retrospect, she supposed he meant were they really going to fight dirty during a sparring season? That was probably the turning point for the entire fight. The place where everything started getting surreal. She hadn't meant for it to get dangerous, but the only way one of 'em could gain an upper hand, especially when they were so evenly matched, was to throw something in a little crooked, a little sideways, something a little dirty for the sole sake of winning. She hadn't known that he was a cheaty cheating cheater that was even worse than she was.

Poor, poor naïve Max had made a face. "Why are you talking?" And jabbed at his stomach, but Alec grabbed for her wrist, drew her in, and that's when finally all the artistic hand-to-hand combat had turned into a slightly more realistic, gritty, grappling session and they went to the mat.

And when they thought nobody was looking, after a minute or so of struggling, when she was trapped beneath him, fighting to free herself from his hold… That's when Alec's brain decided to take a meandering walk away from the rest of his body; he couldn't seem to focus on anything other than the fact that she was writhing underneath him, a slight sheen of sweat against her flushed skin. And before everything within him could cry 'nooooooo, stop!' he'd leaned in, his nose just below her ear, against her neck, and, almost like he couldn't help himself, he inhaled.

_Inhaled_.

It's not like he _licked_ her. Not like he let his teeth glance across her skin. All he'd done was breathe her in; suck in a breath through his nose, the air rushing across her flesh, making its way into his body, then back out again through his lips, tantalizingly close to her skin, the warmed air washing across her neck.

But every nerve fiber in her body had crackled to life and her eyes had squeezed shut and something distinctly alien and animal in him must have sensed it, because he'd drawn away slowly and looked down at her… His eyes had gone dark, but by the time her brown eyes had reopened and refocused, they'd turned back to a green and gold full of control and calculation. And maybe that, _that_ was the beginning of the end for the fight, 'cuz Alec had finally figured out how he would be winning. That's also when more people started gaining interest in their struggles, wandering over to watch as their own sparring sessions came to a close.

They'd rolled and she was over him, trying to force his hands over his head, down into the mat. But as she'd leaned down into him, his eyes had gone hooded and dark and his generous lips parted slightly and what the hell, was Alec giving her _sex_ eyes? On _purpose_? She was trying to convince herself that his fascinating expression was wholly uninteresting when he'd broken free of her loosened grip, bucked her off, with his _frickin' hips_, forcing a rush of air from her lips that sounded suspiciously like a gasp, and he was over her once more, his expression twisting back to playful.

"It's like I'm watching a really soft porn that's on daytime TV by mistake," Polk mused to himself, closer now to the action. "And I can't change the channel, or look away, because it might disappear and I'll never get another chance to see it."

Someone next to him made a fascinated, throaty noise in agreement.

It went on like that for a few minutes. Max struggling to break free. Alec countering with movements both sinuous and erotic. It was still sort of a dance; move and counter, give and take. It was push and pull, roll and rebound, and Max was sure that every ounce of liquid in her body had been redirected to-

"Come on, Maxie, _give up_." She was pinned beneath him once more, her back against the mat, his legs caging hers, and when he'd leaned in, he was practically on top of her. Why his weight wasn't smothering held implications she would prefer to ignore. His breath against her neck was solely annoying though, and she'd attempted a wriggle, but all it did was make him press himself harder into her. Worse, when he transferred her wrist to his other hand, holding her arms pinned over her head with only one fist in an iron-tight grip. The other went sliding across the mat, down her side, his own wrist hugging closely to the generous curves of her body. His fist unfurled and his fingers glanced across the waistline of her jeans, barely touching skin, then flattened against her hipbone, keeping her hips pressed down into the mat as he slid himself forward, his sweaty bare abdomen sliding against red cotton until she could feel the heat of his skin against her own. Somehow, his knee found a way between her clamped legs, forcing them apart.

Max whimpered.

"C'mon, Maxie," He'd repeated, and now that thrumming voice was right next to her ear. "_Give in_."

Her head had arched back into the mat, air rushing from her nostrils. And in a moment of weakness he'd lost a little bit of his careful control and his tongue had flicked out, just below her ear, to the pulse point there, tasting her. Something choked had gathered in her throat, and his fingers stayed at her hip as he shifted over her, his thigh intimately between hers, _against _her, and his exhale had seemed loud and forced; like he was trying to bring himself back under control. Next to her ear, his forced breath was just loud enough to bring her back to herself, just for a moment.

Max froze, eyes wide, and she finally found her voice in a moment of deep, fearful, self-preservation. "You win. I give up!"

A groan of disappointment had filled her ears. And it wasn't Alec's. She'd glanced up in surprise to realize that in their total consumption in the… fight… they'd been having, they'd attracted a small crowd. Alec must have realized too, because he'd quickly released her and sprung to his feet, distancing himself from her. Then he'd blinked, immediately realizing he'd won, and that stupid smirk had twisted his lips, and she couldn't even be annoyed yet, because she was grabbing for her jacket and getting the hell out of there. The annoyance would have to come later, when her body wasn't full of confusion and molten lava.

But here they were again, struggling on his floor, and what the hell had she been thinking? Just because they were alone didn't mean he was fighting fair. And this time she didn't even have anyone to save her from herself.

His fingers curled into the collar of her soft, red cotton top, and as they were struggling, somehow her shoulder became bared, and somehow, he was over her and he was doing that stupid inhalation breathing thing right up against her skin. And somehow, her eyes were shutting again as her abdomen decided it wanted to power a small city judging by all the electricity crackling through it. And somehow, his hand was against her breast and she was gasping, her nails scraping against the warm skin of his shoulders. Then he was lifting her and carrying her, and the feel of the mattress against her back was almost enough to break his hold over her. Almost. Not when she heard the sound of red material tearing and she felt his teeth for the first time, just above her bra. Her hands were shaking as she went for his belt, but if they were, he didn't notice, wholly distracted by the fact that she was going for his belt in the first place.

Contrary to popular belief, transgenics _are_ capable of forgetting. Max, however, could live to be a hundred and five and would never, _ever_, forget the sound he made as she grasped him, something so hoarse and wanting that her head arched back into the pillows and her grip tightened, and she was almost paralyzed as she felt his fingers curl into the waistband of her jeans. She finally released him as he started to shove her pants off with a speed that bordered on desperate.

And even as ridiculously aroused as she was, Max started to come back to herself. "Alec-" she breathed, her voice hitching as he glanced down, at dark underwear that was too ornate to really be for her own eyes and not anyone else's. His smile quirked, a little dangerous, and then his fingers were hooking into those, too, drawing them down slowly, giving her enough time to restart her protest full of logic and thinking and… things.

She propped herself up on her elbows, watching as he pulled her boots off her feet and tossed them across the room. Watched as he did the same with her socks, her underwear, her jeans. Watched as he stood, unzipped his pants the rest of the way, let them drop to the floor.

"Alec, we…" She had to look away as she dropped back, looking at the ceiling, as he leaned forward, eyes full of wicked delight and he crawled back over her.

"Mmmm?" It rumbled through his chest, rumbled through hers. He slid against her, and traitorously, her knees widened for him.

"We can't do thi-" She broke off into a gasp as he slid into her, her back arching, her body offering itself up to him, deepening his first glide.

"Really? Why not?" Wicked and wanting, his voice could have killed her, but his body was doing a good enough job on its own, starting a slow, rocking rhythm that forced air from her nostrils, forced her eyes closed and her teeth around his shoulder. She had to release him with a gasp as he swore in desperation and it reverberated through her body. Very little after that could be described as 'slow.'

And from that ostentatious start, when he'd first arched into her and she'd gasped, to middle, when he was shaking and her harsh cries were exploding around him after each powerful thrust, to what she thought was the finish, when it was her turn to arch with a wail, it was all rough, explosive, mind-numbing; a small moment of surreality, though, when her body was trembling, when his grip loosened and he pressed a small kiss against her sweaty forehead. When his glide gentled and his head hung and he quaked within her before dropping down, smothering her with a weight that didn't seem as heavy as it should.

Her limbs were heavy, weak. She was adrift in a sea of aftershocks and a strange, relaxed kind of mental quietness. When she finally came back to herself, she was blinking at the ceiling. Almost in disbelief.

"…I can't move."

He grunted, finally shoved himself off of her, flopping to his back and flinging an arm over his eyes. But apparently, that's not how she'd meant it.

Max was still blinking, splayed out on the bed, unmoving. "I think you broke me." She attempted to lift an arm. It stayed put. She wanted to blame liquid muscles on too much sparring, but...

His mouth quirked a bit below his arm. Who'da thunk that Max could ever be good for his ego? His arm dropped back to the mattress and he glanced at her, his eyes trailing across the body he'd just spent a good amount of time appreciating. He rolled onto his side and his arm hooked around her middle and he was drawing her back towards him and what? That's weird. Alec so didn't seem like the snuggling type.

Modified snuggling, Max realized with a shiver as his teeth nipped at the curve of her shoulder, her neck, moving across the side of her throat, his capable hand flattening and sliding against skin, across her hip, in to her thigh, and his fingers tightened and he drew her roughly against him and-

Oh. _Oh._

Max hated verbs. In fact, she hated language in general.

Logan was watching her with sad, pensive eyes. Guess this was his way of trying to make up for their umpteenth fight. "Heard Alec gave it to you pretty good yesterday."

Given the fact that she didn't actually say anything, only made a sound, it was amazing how high her tones managed to get. "_Hmmm_?"

And fuck it all, if it wasn't Alec that was leaning in her office's doorway. "Well, the story expands with retelling. I didn't actually beat Max into a pulp on the training mats."

Max almost breathed a sigh of release, maybe of relief, but her intake of breath must have clued Alec in, because the corner of his mouth ticked up, his head tipped to the side, and he added, "Although, some of it _might_ be true. I'm pretty sure she did _beg_…" His eyes slid up and caught hers, and her intake of breath got caught in her airway and refused to come out. He added, almost as an afterthought when Logan turned to look at him a bit strangely, "For mercy. Right, Maxie?"

"Who begged?" She demanded, after she'd kicked Logan out. When they were scrambling out of clothes, at once trying to pull material off of themselves and off of each other and it was amazing with all the flailing of hands that anything actually managed to get done.

"That would be you," He grinned, and she didn't get a chance to protest because his hands hooked beneath her naked ass and he lifted and spun her and they all but collided with the desk, falling back onto it. Max, annoyed, refused to give him the upper hand. So it was with a good lock and a powerful twist that Alec heard a desk lamp crash to the floor, found himself on his back, blinking up at Max leaning over him, her palms pressing down into his chest. And a little thrill coursed through her as a dangerous smile twisted her lips, as a little flash of panic flared behind his eyes. She bit her lip, her eyes went a bit hooded as she sank onto him, as his head cracked back into the desk and his fingers squeezed her hips.

So, maybe verbs weren't all bad.

"Who's begging now?"


End file.
